


In Which Spock Ties Kirk Up and Proceedes to Have his Wicked Way With him

by Ramtops_Witch



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-02
Updated: 2011-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-26 18:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramtops_Witch/pseuds/Ramtops_Witch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk needs to be tied to more things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Spock Ties Kirk Up and Proceedes to Have his Wicked Way With him

Part of being in a relationship was negotiation, especially if that relationship happened to be parties of separate cultures and genomes. For example, Spock had never celebrated his birth as a child, however his beloved was very enthusiastic (and dedicated) about the entire cultural concept, and so Spock attended his ‘birthday party’ and went through the mandatory cultural traditions contained therein. He partook of cake—strawberry, despite Kirk’s repeated attempts to get him to imbibe chocolate—made by Kirk himself. It had been pleasant to eat, despite the fact that the cake itself was a pink lopsided affair, with large hunks missing from the top layer due to the pan sticking, and an odd disbursement of glaze due to Kirk not waiting for the cake to cool before icing it. Kirk had been rather defensive regarding the cake, especially in the face of Dr. McCoy’s snickering (“It’s a perfectly good cake. She just refuses to put her worth on fancy sugar coatings and fripperies. She’s like the punk princess cake and she’s the most delicious cake at the ball.” “Do you even listen to yourself when you talk? Who needs to anthropomorhphize a cake? And I told you to wait before you iced, but heaven forbid the great James T. Kirk listen to advice”). Spock graciously accepted the gifts in the spirit with which they were given. Some of them were very thoughtful (Nyota had given him some Terran literature that she thought he’d appreciate, it should prove to be very educational, and give him something to fill that bothersome free time his sleep schedule often left him with) or were at least useful. Jim had given him some lovely bowls and Spock very much appreciated them and their potential utility, even if it had gotten Jim a strange look from Dr. McCoy. Spock filed this away for his continuing categorization of human expressions and went back to his cake. It was very good cake, and Spock was forced to agree with Kirk’s assessment of it, and would have even had they not been engaged in a romantic relationship (no matter what Dr. McCoy claimed regarding his ‘impartiality’ or lack thereof).

When the party had completed (it had taken place during the ending of one shift and the beginning of another, so that the entire crew felt free to participate), they had returned to their daily business, interrupted only be a few people wishing him well on the anniversary of his birth. He still did not see why he was being congratulated for an event that he had done very little to arrange, and thought it would make more sense for people to wish one’s mother well, as she had done most of the labor, but humans were, as ever, illogical. That evening Kirk announced that he had another present for Spock, one that for obvious reasons could not have been gifted to Spock during the festivities.

“I fail to see how this is a ‘present’,” Spock replied when Kirk finished his explanation of exactly what he wanted Spock to do.

“C’mon Spock, it’s exciting. You can do anything with me you want. I am utterly at your mercy, helpless to do anything but what you want to do to me. Go on, tell me that doesn’t get you hot,” He leaned in closer, leaving the barest distance of air between them, one that was always tempting to close, but Spock continued to resist, “that the idea of me submitting to you, obeying you, or if I don’t, the idea of punishing me. You can’t say you’ve never wanted to punish me a little? Doesn’t that get you at least a little bit?” Kirk smiled up at him, all blue eyed wickedness, his fingers hovering over Spock’s chest, waiting to pet, or clutch or tease.

Spock stared at him a moment, before he was suddenly reminded of a frequent…fantasy he entertained when he and the Captain were forcibly parted and Spock was left to take care of himself. Spock’s body had adapted to Kirk’s frequent and passionate use of it, and when Kirk was not there Spock had found that his previous solution of meditation did not suffice. He felt a faint warming of his cheeks at the idea, which definitely caught Kirk’s attention, so much so that his eyes lit up and he grinned, sensing victory.

“Look, I even got these restraints, they’re elastic so I’m restrained but it won’t cause any undue damage to my wrists for Bones to bitch over!” Kirk looked far too eager for Spock’s peace of mind, but that was one of the draws of Kirk in the first place: he did not do things half-heartedly. Spock reviewed the hypothetical situation on offer. Sex was not something Vulcans talked about often at the best of times, and even then it was stated as a reason to procreate. When he had researched human sexual practices the sheer, unadulterated bulk of varieties and forms—both plausible and non—had been such that he had deemed the attempt to study all forms as a poor use of his time, and it was unlike he would ever need to know more then the basics of keeping one’s partner satisfied. Kirk…was pleased at the efforts Spock went through, but was determined to draw Spock into, what he called, the “deep end of the kink pool.” The idea of restraining his partner’s hands was both unsettlingly alluring and uncomfortable. Without Kirk there to take over most of their sexual forays Spock was unsure if he would know how to…how to respond, but then, it would cease the odd dynamic wherein Kirk took over to such a degree it made it hard for Spock to focus.

He looked at Kirk, who was practically bouncing with the hypothetical situation he had created.  
He supposed there couldn’t be that many repercussions as long as Kirk was the one tied up, and if it were not enjoyable, he could terminate the arrangement and he and Kirk could continue as they usually did, without the assistance of toys or games.

***  
Kirk was tied facing the bed; legs spread of their own violation and left unbound. Spock had placed a pillow under Kirk’s chest, a smaller one under his forehead, and yet another under his shins. Kirk had looked at him oddly, but Spock had reiterated that this was “his present,” and he could do with it as he pleased. Spock’s attention, however, remained for a much longer time on Kirk’s hands. They were tied with the stretch elastic restraints, as such they had give, but not enough for Kirk to take advantage, and as restraints they were slightly pointless. Meaning that they existed for this purpose, not for prisoners or medical reasons, just for use in the bedroom. Spock was helpless for several moments to do much more then stare at the slight twitching of Kirk’s knuckles, the tension in the thenar and hypothenar muscles. The longer he stared, the more they twitched, clenched, all impotently as they were useless to be anything but decorative.

Kirk was naked and Spock had adjusted the light to bring out the golden hue of his lover’s skin. He paused to admire the aesthetics of what lay before him, beyond the hands or fidgeting motion of Kirk’s hips. The planes and textures of a naked human body, more specifically, Kirk’s naked body were enthralling, and not something he could see sedentary for longer than a few moments, and certainty never while Kirk was awake. He almost wished that his own talents lay in painting rather than music. To take paint to canvas and capture this in sure strokes, to lavish in each detail and have a reason to stare as much as he wanted—but then he could never display it, because is someone else saw they might try to steal Jim from him, and that would not be allowed. And it would be unfortunate if they were parted because Spock was jailed for murder, though some small part of him was sure he could, as Kirk said, “get away with it.” It was a moot point in any case because Kirk was in his bed and was so happy to be there that he had tied himself there and refused to leave.

He moved forward and carefully straddled Kirk, moving his thighs in tight against Kirk’s ribs and leaned forward, slowly, because he so rarely got to do anything slowly when it involved Kirk. He reached up, splaying his hands over Kirk’s scalp, stroking over his hair for a moment simply because he could. Kirk sighed and nuzzled into his pillow. Spock carefully, methodically found carded his fingers over Kirk’s scalp

“What are you doing?” Kirk asked after a few moments.

“Stimulating the nerves in your scalp while encouraging blood flow and exerting a small amount of pressure to the cartilage, allowing it to settle in a manner that is more beneficial,” Spock replied, enjoying the textural mix of soft hair, stiff follicles, and firm skull, the hazy dripping thoughts drizzling from Kirk’s head and up Spock’s fingers, curling up his forearms and running over his own thoughts, easy and familiar.

“…This is your fantasy,” Kirk grumbled, but Spock didn’t heed his vocal inflection when all he got from Kirk’s mind was approval. Kirk often spoke counter to what his internal desires were, Spock assumed

“Oh no, this is only the beginning.” Spock assured him, “my fantasy is much more detailed.”

Kirk huffed out a breath, “I should have known you’d be the slow tortuous type given half the chance.” Indeed, their lovemaking was often initiated by Kirk, and was therefore marked by a certain air of urgency. They were not unsatisfying, and more times then not the urgency was warranted and convenient given their schedules, but the idea of going slowly was…stimulating even in theory.

Spock hummed his agreement and then returned to his stimulation, pressing firmly, then stroking lightly, enough to send shivers down Kirk’s spine that Spock could feel, pressed against him as he was. He raked his fingers through bristly hair, allowing it to tease his fingertips until they were sensitized enough that he had to stop briefly less this become as urgent and desperate as all the other nights. This was his birthday, as everyone kept reiterating, he would enjoy it. He sank back into the mess of soft mildly-scented hair. Thumbs circling even as his fingers stroked, spread wide, and then close together; He lost himself in the rhythm and the warm glow that came from the connection with his th’y’la. Not the full on meld, but just a gentle tingle that danced it’s way down his spine. He stayed there, reveling in the feel of Kirk’s hair on his fingers, finally forcing himself to continue to the neck. By this time Kirk was purring beneath his fingers.

The skin of his neck was a sudden change after the stimulating roughness of his scalp; it was like going from rolling around in the grass (a sensation that had been currently foreign to Spock pre-Kirk) and then moving to a silk strewn bed. He rubbed at the muscles down either side of Kirk’s spine and felt more than heard Kirk groan. He ran down to the trapezius muscle and began to lift at it, loosen the fibers, and more importantly, get Kirk to melt into the bed as he moved to allow Spock to move in the limited space between his neck and his shoulder, held in place by those restraints he was no, at least moderately, resenting. He moved down, over the expanse of Kirk’s back, and shifted himself down to wrap around said man’s hips. He trailed his fingers in curious spirals down Kirk’s back, reveling in the way the smooth skin made his fingers tingle.

Settling back, Spock reached over to the bedside table, where he had set several bowls earlier. He picked up the first one and dipped his fingers into the sharp, spicy oil, then poured some into his cupped palm, before rubbing them together to heat the oil. Briefly, he allowed himself the sensual pleasure of warm and slippery and permitting his lips to twitch into a smirk because this was just the beginning, and he so liked a plan gone well.

Once his hands were thoroughly coated Spock returned them to Kirk’s body, for the moment just coating Kirk’s back in oil (never a bad thing), and warming him up. Kirk would likely argue that he was warmed up, Spock would, just as likely ignore him. Then he rubbed his hands gently over the muscles groups on one side of the spine.

“You watched massage videos didn’t you?” Kirk asked after a moment.

“I thought it vital to research massage before giving one. I did not want to cause injury.”

“So, you fantasized about giving me a massage. You watched massage porn. You got off, to instruction massage videos imagining it was me.”

“…that is an accurate summarization, yes.”

“I love you.”

“You usually only utilize that tone for that phrase when it is followed by or following a slight to my character.”

“The slight was implicit.” Kirk groaned, “oh that’s good.”

He splayed his fingers around the back of Kirk’s head, in a gentle, reverse of their altercation on the bridge. He pressed his thumbs up the curve to the hairline, and then back down; trailing his thumbs carefully down the entire length of the spine, fingers ghosting along—spreading the oil onto the skin, teasing feather light touches to contrast the press of his thumbs slowly rubbing the tight muscles all along Kirk’s spine. He continued down, scooting himself out of the way, until the lumbar met the sacrum, and he relished there awhile, both for his own pleasure, and also due to the fact that Kirks’ preferred sitting position left him with far too much lower back tension.

Kirk moaned and the delicate curve he was trailing was interrupted by the swell of Kirk’s gluteus maximous-

“It’s an ass. Call it an ass.”

“I said nothing,” Spock defended himself.

“An ass,” Kirk insisted, bucking his hips upward to demonstrate what he was referring to.

He retraced his steps, gliding upwards in a sure, hard stroke—wringing a groan from his lover, until his hands once again cupped Kirk’s neck.

Sliding his hands apart until each one cupped a separate trapezius muscles, cupping them and pressing his palms down, exerting pressure first with the flat palm, and then digging his thumbs in, using his the side of his palm to dig in more deeply with slow rotations of the wrist, unable to suppress a groan of his own as his fingers dug into the curve of Kirk’s shoulder, his hands overwhelmed by the oil slick skin, the hardness of the muscles that they dug into, and the low, warm buzz as his th’y’la’s muscles relaxed under his ministrations.

He moved his thumbs in circles, stimulating the nerves and encouraging the blood to move more freely; then slid his hands up the side of Kirk’s neck, and down to the deltoid muscles. Cupping them in his hands he allowed himself to indulge in the pleasing curve of the muscle before digging his thumb into where the deltoid met with the triceps, and squeezed. Continuously pressing down with his thumb, he glided his hands up and down the deltoid until it was warm, slick and loose—then back down until he met the biceps. He continued his way down Kirk’s right arm until his fingers encircled Kirk’s captured wrist. He released it, not wanting to hurry things along by playing with Kirk’s hands, and went back up Kirk’s arm, gentler this time, not seeking out specific muscles, but encouraging them to all work together.

He paused to slick his hands with more oil before returning to Kirk’s back. He returned briefly to the trapezius, before moving to the lattissimus dorsi, careful about putting too much pressure on Kirk’s ribs, his hands were gentle here, rubbing in circles guided by the flesh of his palm rather than the press of his thumbs.

He pressed hard into the small of Kirk’s back, this time earning both a pant and a grunt and a rather breathy, “please tell me you’re going to fuck me soon.”

He ignored this as irrelevant, and gripped the gluteus maximous in his hands.

“An assfuck.”

“You have stated that you are my present, as such, I will call your various parts what I want and will make use of them when I feel so inclined.”

Kirk just hitched his hips, and his fingers made the most delightful series of twitching motions

Being rather fond of this part of his captain’s body, he was both loath to skimp here and aware of the dangers involved with languishing He settled for a gentle kneading, and then what might have been called a petting motion, likely by Kirk who was laughing a little bit and Spock went back to paying it the same heed he’d paid Kirk’s back. Finally, with promise to himself that he would return in good time, he moving down Kirk’s spread thighs.

And beautifully spread they were, Kirk was always at his most winsome like this—Spock loved the vulnerability of those thighs, loved the way they changed the line of Kirk’s body when they moved. And so he made certain said thighs knew how much he appreciated them, how much he enjoyed the curve of where they met with Kirk’ glu…oh so be it—ass, the slick line of them down to the dip of his knee, and oh how he favored vulnerable dip of the back of the knee.

Kirk’s feet he did allow himself to massage, less stimulating than the hands but related, teasing himself as he dug in, hard as was pleasurable with humans, pressing his knuckles along pressure points, rubbing at the heel of his foot, the delicate hill of the ankle, the curve of the arch, the smooth top of the foot—thin skin and cartilage over bone so that every metacarpal teased the nerves of his hand like Spock was the one getting the massage.

Spock pulled away, eased one hand under Kirk’s body to the flat of Kirk’s stomach, and reached up with the other one to smoothly flip the Captain until he rested on his back, arched slightly over the pillow. Kirk was flushed a becoming dusty rose, something that never ceased to be attractive and exotic, he was darker in some places. Spock traced the color and watched as Kirk’s fingers grappled with the restraints and he had to lick his lips a few times to even breathe properly. His penis bobbed in the air, a darker color—like the wine humans were so fond of. His nipples were a similar color, hard and prominent. Like his body was straining upwards—straining toward Spock even as the bonds and his own relaxed muscles kept Kirk on the bed, lax, loose and open to anything.

Spock was pleased, and gave each nipple and the head of Kirk’s penis a closed mouth kiss to show this. Kirk watched him, lids half-mast and fingers stretching and clenching in turn.

He hesitated briefly. Whereas the back presented a clean canvas, Kirk’s front was a far more varied topography and possessed far more distractions. He placed his hands on the sides of Kirk’s neck, stroking down in smooth, gentle strokes; trailing a teasing finger down the curve of his shoulder and under his arms to grip muscles missed in his earlier ministrations.

Spock often wondered if this was what sculptor masters felt when the dug their fingers into the clay; this feeling of euphoria—of creation and power; of the pure sensual pleasure that came from shaping things with your hands and feeling them between your fingers. If he pressed his hands against Kirk’s pectorals, fingers splayed and palms pressing down and cupping over the mound of muscle, what sound would that evoke? If he rubbed out towards Kirk’s arms—fingers pressing gently and thumb exerting greater pressure—would that elicit a different response than if he mirrored the motion, bringing the muscles back toward the sternum?

“Damn. Fucking. Vulcan. Scientists. Not. Experiment.” Kirk gasped, clearly interpreting the gleam in Spock’s eyes now that they were face to face.

“On the contrary, it is only logical for me to learn your reactions to stimulus, and to vary the trials so that I am able to maximize the pleasure—and thus efficiency of our physical encounters. You have not, prior to this, given me much chance to explore.” Spock corrected him as he trailed his hands down to the abdominal muscles, allowing himself to trace the curves that were barely evident, but were a clear indication of his Captain’s continued desire to remain in ‘fighting form’ as it were. It was hard to tell if he liked Kirk’s stomach more when he clenched it invitingly tight, or when it relaxed into compelling softness.

“God, I hate it… when you use my own... kinks against me.”

“If you did not wish me to do so you are welcome to stop jumping me during important experiments.”

“Too damn hot.” Kirk protested, as he always did, although usually with more eloquence.

“I am, I fear unable to change your perception of my ‘hotness.’” Spock informed him, hands coming to rest on Kirk’s hips, skimming gently—down the curve of the bone, teasing the pelvic joint. “I have no desire to alter my appearance, and, I suspect, you would persist in your favor regardless.”

Kirk whined when Spock bypassed the straining erection, a feature he already knew plenty well from other encounters, and continued down the soft, vulnerable skin of the thighs. He allowed himself the luxury of lingering there, stroking up and down without actually accomplishing very much. The skin of Kirk’s legs was different than that of his torso or back, peppered with fine hairs that tickled at Spock’s palm. He stroked, becoming lost in the feel—hypnotic and both far more calming than any meditation technique and ridiculously arousing. A whimper broke him out of it, and told him he wasn’t the only one aroused by his actions. Kirk was wiggling in his bonds, hips shifting against the sheets, the muscles of the thighs he had been so fixated on flexed—wanting to wrap around Spock’s waist and hold on as he drove into Kirk.

Spock allowed himself a small smile and continued past Kirk’s knees.

Once he had again reached Kirk’s feet Spock repeated his earlier action, this time placing a steadying hand on the small of Kirk’s back before he gently rolled him over again.

“Please. Please tell me you’re going to fuck me, because seriously, not a pancake. Dislike all the flipping and no fucking. Oh, no, a futon. A futon would have been…” Kirk groaned, “I’m thinking of similes during sex. Fix me.”

“I fully intend on massaging all the muscles I am capable of, and that you would enjoy me doing so, including internal ones.” Spock assured him, stroking Kirk's hips soothingly.

Kirk sort of gurgled, which Spock took as encouragement. He took the soft rag from a bowl of warm water on the table and began cleaning, pushing Kirk’s thighs open wider and keeping the pressure gentle. The cleaning was not necessary, but the ritual held on from the early days of their relationship, where Spock insisted homosexual penetrative sex was unhygienic without proper measures being taken and Kirk insisting that he never call anything “homosexual penetrative sex” ever again, because it was the “unsexiest term for sex since ever.” Spock had merely blinked at him and Kirk had gotten up to get a washcloth. Spock had gotten over his squeamishness, but kept the cleaning because it made Kirk whimper in staccato bursts of sound that, were they a chemical compound, could be called addicting.

Satisfied, he dipped his fingers into the third bowl—this one having a thicker,  
clear gel. Coating his fingers liberally he inserted one into Kirk. He started with a slow thrusting of the finger, until he was up to the last knuckle. He let the rings spasm around him for a moment, massaging that finger in a teasing, tight grip. He thrust the finger in and out gently before rotating, moving in small-but-ever increasing spirals. He continued that, far more slowly thrust in fully, crook his finger in a way that would have Kirk straining up and shuddering. The loosened muscles tightening now—no longer smooth but instead hard and straining. Fascinating.

Spock eased in another finger, feeling them rub against each other, as well as against Kirk’s internal muscles. He allowed himself to thrust them in and up repeatedly, continuing the one motion until Kirk groaned and thrust himself down on Spock’s fingers. Spock then began twisting them, full circle. He placed his other hand on Kirk’s hips, and ignored the whine that this earned him, because vocal interaction clearly meant he was onto something.

Spock continued twisting, enjoying the tight grasp on his fingers, the friction as the rubbed against each other and Kirk—enjoying the way Kirk’s muscles all seized and strained when he brushed against Kirk’s prostate.

Curving his fingers he set them in a steady thrusting motion while teasing the outside with his thumb, rubbing and pinching the skin—it was like this: his fingers pressed hard against Kirk’s prostate, the others rubbing the inner curve of his right leg, thumb pressed hard against the sacrel spine, and he brought his fingers together slowly and watched as Kirk gave a loud shout, his muscles tensed-spasmed-relaxed.

Kirk moaned, utterly relaxed under Spock’s entranced gaze. “Fascinating,” Spock murmured, and twisted his fingers again. Kirk jerked under him and let out a little halfway-sound, but did not have the energy for much movement at the moment. Spock decided that this would be the proper time to introduce more lubrication and a third finger.

While Kirk’s remained still, his legs shifted wider, spreading his thighs and giving Spock greater access to his current area of massage. Spock rewarded him by crooking two of the fingers against his prostate, spreading the third out as far as it would go, and thrusting them in and out repeatedly. He continued this until a fine sheet of sweat covered Kirk’s back, and then he began twisting his fingers. The muscle spasms that had accompanied Kirk’s orgasm had resulted a general relaxation—congruent with other observations of the result of orgasm upon Kirk’s musculature, but Spock was in a position to notice it more fully, as he encountered little resistance while twisting and thrusting his fingers. This allowed him to move his other hand to massage the external area more thoroughly than he had previously dared.

“How,” he swallowed, twisting his head to try and look at Spock, but not quite succeeding, “Long… going… continue?” Kirk turned his head and mumbled into the pillow, but Spock was able to hear him with very little effort, partly because he could already speculate on what he was most likely to say.

“In order to facilitate complete relaxation I estimate that I will need to stimulate your internal muscles through a minimum of three cycles of tightening and relaxation.”

This caused Kirk to twist in his bonds in an attempt to look at Spock, “Spock, I’m a human male, and you want me to come three times before you’ll fuck me?”

“I have great faith in your stamina Captain.” Spock assured him, “and I am willing to put forth as much effort and time as needed in order to accomplish my goal. However, if you believe that you are in need of greater rest time between events, I submit that there is plenty of oil left for me to repeat my earlier ministrations. Indeed, it is only sensible that I bring the entire process into three cycles. Additionally I am afraid that I was forced to give less than my complete attention to some areas on my first try. Clearly in order to bring this to a satisfactory ending I must rectify that.” Spock had continued his ministrations during his speech, but now withdrew his hands, and washed them in the bowl of soapy water.

“As I was unable to massage your hands last time I propose to begin there.” Spock dipped his hands back into the first bowl.

“Fucking. Bastard. Fuck me now.”

“In order to obtain the desired result all steps must be taken in their correct order Captain.”

“I order you,” he swallowed again and had to lick his lips several times before he was able to finish with a disjointed, “fuck me.”

“With all due respect, I refuse—Captain. You are my birthday present, and according to the rules of you being my present, you are at my mercy.” Spock released Kirk’s right hand and cradled it in his own, admiring it before rubbing the knuckles gently.

“Bastard,” Kirk said, as he tended to, but he wasn’t particularly angry so the name-calling was deeply unnecessary, “Not even hard.”

“On the contrary.” Spock moved until Kirk could seek Spock’s erection, “I am quite aroused. However as I do have greater control over my body’s functions, it would behoove me to restrain myself until I have concluded my experiments.”

“Hate you.” Kirk whined into his pillow.

“Understood.” Spock turned his attention back to the hand cradled between his own, gently working on the meat of the thumb and palm. “Though I suspect you will rescind your statement.”

He did, in fact, repeat himself three more times, and even regardless of his own enjoyment of the process, he thought it did Kirk quite a bit of good. He held far too much tension in his neck and shoulders.

By the time Spock judged Kirk sufficiently relaxed, he in fact appeared to be melting into the mattress, so much so that he simply allowed himself to be positioned as Spock saw fit, his muscles soft and supple under Spock’s hands. Moreover, he gave little more than a grunt when his hips were lifted up to meet Spock. Spock slid almost effortlessly inside him. It was all Kirk could do to hold on and keep from banging his head into the headboard as Spock thrust inside his already sated body, lax and loose and warm, a compelling contrast to the hard, quick angles of Kirk in control. Now he could do little more than arch his neck and pant, body hot with dripping sweat that Spock relished licking from him, salty and mingling with the spiced oil.

Once Spock had completed he slid his fingers back in, to make sure Kirk stayed open and slick, rubbing his fingers and taking a strange sort of joy as his sperm had oozed out of Kirk to mingle with the massage oil that glistened in the warm light. He continued—and their really was no other word for it—playing with Kirk’s willing, wet body and Kirk had fallen limp in quiet supplication..

“Y’gnna’ untie m’now?” He mumbled, cuddling as much as he could given their positions and Spock’s current activity

“But Captain, that would be hardly fair. After all, you have come thrice already, and as this is my birthday present it is only logical that I obtain a greater number of orgasms than yourself.”

Kirk made a very pleasant and utterly nonsensical noise, Spock took it for approval, as Kirk had so desperately wanted Spock to make use of him, and now he was promising to do as such.

“How convenient that we both have tomorrow off,” Spock mused, even as he eased his clean fingers into Kirk’s mouth and basked in the lazy, welcoming heat of his mate’s mouth and the gentle lapping of his tongue.

FIN. (Except for poor Kirk)


End file.
